


Sick and Safe

by starrylitme



Category: Super Dangan Ronpa 2
Genre: Accidental Voyeurism, Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Alternate Universe - Twins, Asphyxiation, Complicated Relationships, Established Relationship, Family Feels, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Internal Conflict, Internal Monologue, M/M, Masochism, Non-Sexual Intimacy, References to Illness, Sexual Content, Smoking, Suggestive Themes, Threesome - M/M/M, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, Unhealthy Relationships
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-30
Updated: 2018-04-30
Packaged: 2019-04-30 09:39:04
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,193
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14494140
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/starrylitme/pseuds/starrylitme
Summary: They prefer suffocation by poison.(Twins AU where Hinata and Kamukura have to deal with their lover's bad smoking habit among other things.)





	Sick and Safe

**Author's Note:**

> This is pretty short and was mostly experimental but I...eh. This does feel like a weird off-shoot alternate of the last fucked up Twins AU KamuKomaHina fic I wrote. But it's less problematic, probably. It's more just, kinda sad. Compared to that.
> 
> This fic really is just an excuse to experiment more with unhealthy coping habits. Hmm.
> 
> I wonder where this will go. There's no incest, at least.

It’s a beautiful night out. Stars flicker across the sky with a wide ivory moon as a centerpiece.

 “Nagito, you know Hajime hates it when you smoke.”

Nagito turns to him curiously, cigarette pressed oh so delicately to his lips from between his fingers. Wisps of gray drift from the other end, disappearing into the air. Nagito’s hair is tied back, and it looks more silver than its usual white. His eyes, as well, as they blink back under long, white lashes, look silver without a tinge of green in sight. At least, he wouldn’t see any green if he hadn’t known it was there.

“Nagito,” he says again, because he hasn’t received an answer. Nagito perks up, and flicks off ash from his cigarette with a cheerful smile.

“Izuru-kun! It’s late out!” Exclaimed as though he wasn’t aware. With that smile brightening and an innocent tilt of his head, Nagito asks, “Did you come outside to look at the stars too? Lovely, aren’t they? You can also see the rabbit on the moon.”

Izuru’s gaze flickers to the cigarette in his hand, but he doesn’t miss Nagito’s smile twitch. How Nagito soon sighs and takes another cigarette from the box sitting on the railing. How he offers it to Izuru with only a half-curve to his lips.

He giggles when Izuru takes it all the same.

Nagito relights his cigarette and takes a drag with a heavy sigh. His teasing smile returns when Izuru sticks the cigarette between his teeth, and Nagito leans in, lighting it with the end of his own.

Nagito coughs out some smoke, but Izuru inhales without trouble. The sickly sweet, poisonous taste doesn’t do anything for him. He really doesn’t understand Nagito’s affinity for it.

Even though he does.

Because Nagito would rather die from rotten lungs than a rotten brain. Because Nagito prefers suffocation and poison to all other ways to die. Because Hajime refuses to wrap his hands around that thin, pale throat when Nagito asks him to. Because Izuru, also, refuses.

The taste of sickly sweet poison does nothing for him—but.

Once Nagito pulls the cigarette away with yet another sigh, Izuru swoops in to crush their lips together.

Nagito is the exception to that, like he is for everything else.

* * *

“Hinata-kun...”

“Nagito, I already told you no.”

Nagito whines. “Hinata- _kun_...!”

“And why can’t you call me by my first name?” Hajime grips at him as he keeps the box of cigarettes out of Nagito’s reach. “You do with Izuru. Seriously, we’ve known each other longer, right?”

Izuru watches them, bored and unimpressed. Nagito’s still trying to reach for the box, but Hajime keeps him down easily. Then again, Nagito doesn’t really seem to be trying all that hard.

“Hinata-kun,” he says, and whines more incessantly. “Hinata-kun! Hinata- _kun_!”

“I told you—!” Hajime repeated, voice raising. “No! You’re sick enough as it is! And what’s worse—the smell gets everywhere!”

That it does.

Nagito’s lower lip juts out in a childish pout. His eyes shimmer like he’s about to cry. Hajime, even as he falters, still stands firm and refuses.

Nagito shoves him and stomps off, ignoring any call of his name Hajime shouts after him. He just grabs his coat, slides his arms through the sleeves and slams the door behind him.

Hajime curses. And he glares at the offending box in his hands.

“Nagito will just buy another, you know,” Izuru tells him, as though he doesn’t. Hajime huffs, but Izuru just goes on, oh so calmly, “Don’t you think he resents your protectiveness enough already?”

Hajime rolls his eyes at that. “Nagito resents that I actually give a damn about him. He hates that you do, too, Izuru. He thinks I’m a bad influence on you for that.”

“Does he?” Izuru asks, almost curiously but his tone’s too dull for it. At Hajime’s exasperated glare, he simply shrugs. “Well, yes. It’s understandable, from his perspective.”

“His _perspective_.” Hajime snorts and he seats himself at the table, placing the box down and laying his head in folded arms. “I still don’t understand him, after all these years. But of course _you_ do. Of _course_ you do.”

...There’s resentment in his brother’s tone.

Izuru approaches him, and ruffles short, spiky brown hair. Hajime buries his face in his arms even deeper. And so, Izuru plucks the box from the table, and asks,

“Shall we, Hajime?”

Hajime’s laugh then is muffled and rueful. “Nagito’s _such_ a terrible influence.”

* * *

Nagito’s told him about some of the dreams he’s had. About how some torture him with spears and knives, how he’d sometimes wake up, suffocated in garbage and waste, and then there are the dreams where he’s suffocating in smoke.

“Those,” Nagito says, with a cheeky smile and tapping his cigarette against the ashtray, “are my favorite. Because. Those are the ones Hinata-kun and Izuru-kun are usually in.”

Nagito dreams of other people, of course. His parents—or whatever’s left of them—and a woman with long red nails and a blindingly sharp smile. She’s the one who makes Nagito wake up screaming sometimes, and all too eager to bury himself in Hajime’s arms afterwards, soaking up Hajime’s coos and comforting words as Izuru rubs soothing circles into his back.

And, Nagito almost always _begs_ afterwards.

And Izuru knows that, in spite of Hajime’s best efforts, their relationship with Nagito is not exactly a healthy one. Hajime resents him _and_ Nagito for that. They don’t blame him. Not at all.

Still.

“Hinata-kun and Izuru-kun are there, but,” Nagito giggles. “When I try to embrace them, they vanish in a cloud of smoke, and I end up suffocating. Perhaps I’m crying, calling for help except I can’t get out the words.”

...Still.

“Even as I’m choking, even as I’m crying—all I really think about is...” A pause. Nagito smiles at him. “The smoke tastes so sweet. I can’t get enough. I can’t get enough of either of you two. If you two would just— _kill me already_ —I think I’ll finally be happy with my life.”

Izuru doesn’t say a word. He just stands and leaves. He doesn’t look back, but he knows Nagito’s smile falters as he shuts the door behind him.

* * *

Hajime’s flushed and scratching irritably at his arms. A bottle sits on the table with him, and his brother looks utterly miserable.

“Hajime.”

“I _know_ ,” Hajime groans, and pressed his hand to his forehead, elbow digging hard into the table’s surface. “Don’t worry, Izuru, I’m hardly even buzzed.”

Izuru pats his shoulder and—

“God, I wish I _wasn’t_ ,” Hajime blurts out, and his laughter is harsh and broken. “I wish it didn’t itch so much. It’d make this so _much_ easier.”

“It is what it is,” Izuru says. Hajime shrugs helplessly.

“I...” He trails off for a moment. “I’m so tired of all this, Izuru. I love Nagito and I love you, but god _this_... This is just too much. I’m _so_ tired.”

“If you want to take a break, neither Nagito nor I will hold that against you, Hajime.”

It’s the truth, but Hajime bitterly laughs like it’s an unfunny joke.

It’s not a pleasant sound, but the cracks in it are painfully familiar.

Then without missing a beat, Hajime takes a swing.  Izuru reacts immediately by snatching the bottle away, but Hajime had already swallowed quite a bit. Hajime coughs, cheeks flaring. His lips are soaked with alcohol, saliva drips down his chin, and Hajime wipes it away with the back of his hand.

Clicking his tongue, Izuru seals the bottle and goes to put it away.

“You should rest,” he said. “It is late. I will get you medicine.”

Hajime sighs heavily and loudly.

“At times like these,” his brother mutters darkly. “I’m reminded of just how much I wish things could be _different_.”

Izuru paused for a brief moment.

“...it cannot be helped,” he murmured after a while. But he kept his voice quiet enough so that Hajime did not hear it.

* * *

Izuru knows that things would be better if they all broke apart. Because Nagito can’t be left alone, he knows he could at least spare Hajime by taking Nagito away. He can take care of Nagito on his own. After a while, Nagito would accept it.

Hajime would resent him for it just like Hajime resented him for a lot of things but—Izuru knows that with time, Hajime will understand. He always has.

With that in mind, he shouldn’t hesitate, especially now with this opportunity given. Hajime is at a lower point than he’s ever been. It would be best to cut him out now before he really got hurt.

It would be for the better.

Izuru hesitates. And it isn’t long before he walks on his brother and their shared lover together. Nagito’s pressed up against the wall, making soft sounds with his legs tensing as Hajime hoists him up. Hajime squeezes his ass, rutting more _roughly_ into him.

It is in the middle of one of the many hallways of Nagito’s elegant home. There is a glimmering vase on a pedestal nearby. There are paintings adorning the walls. Nagito and Hajime are half-dressed and fucking like clumsy teenagers.

Izuru ducks back around the corner before he could be seen. As he does, Nagito’s next cry of pleasure is resounding.

“O-Ohhh, Hinata-kun...!”

“Hajime,” his brother hisses sharply. “Call me _Hajime_.”

“H-Hajime...kun... Oh god, more, please, Hajime- _kun_!”

The sound of slapping skin, of their mixed sounds—Izuru is quick to go in the opposite direction. His expression betrays nothing but his heart is no doubt pounding.

_It’s a good thing they made up._

(The relief he feels is palpable.)

* * *

Things are still not alright. Nagito and Hajime are still at odds over the matter of cigarettes, but because they love each other, they bury their resentment with smiles and small shows of affection.

A brush of contact here, a smile there, and tension simmers underneath until it gets diffused by a trivial conversation about nothing. It stirs back to life when Nagito starts hiding his cigarette packages in places Hajime doesn’t think to look.

Not that Hajime doesn’t know. And Hajime can only get into so many arguments, so he acts out in other ways. Ways that, Nagito, unsurprisingly, welcomes.

There is a glaring bitemark on Nagito’s neck. Hajime will not meet anyone’s eyes. Hajime almost seems ashamed, but Nagito smiles serenely as ever.

When Hajime gets a call from one of his obnoxious friends, he almost jumps at the chance to leave. He kisses Nagito goodbye, of course, but nervously avoids Izuru’s gaze even as Izuru wishes him well.

Hajime does stammer out a response, but he’s quicker to shut the door behind him, leaving him and Nagito alone. Nagito smiles at him when he glances in his direction before going to retrieve a cigarette box.

“Hinata-kun’s a bit of a mess,” he said when Izuru predictably followed him. “Is that really alright with you, Izuru-kun?”

_Such an obvious question._

“Can you not smoke right away?” Izuru asked more quietly than he had intended. It wasn’t too quietly, at least. “I know that as an addiction that it is difficult for you, but—Hajime only just left. And as you noticed, he has been struggling as of late.”

Nagito sighs at him.

“It’s not often you ask me so nicely,” he murmurs, fidgeting almost anxiously with the packaging. “Ahh, hah... You’re making a face that’s really hard to say no to.”

Izuru blinked at him and did not change his expression. “Then say yes, Nagito.”

Nagito visibly swallows, lips and fingers twitching.

“Then...” He holds a finger to his lips. A smile slips across. “Can we do something else, Izuru-kun?”

_That glimmer in his eye is..._

“It’s been a while since I burned myself with a cigarette,” Nagto says almost wistfully, drawing nearer to him and blinking up with shimmering gray-greens. “I remember it being so exhilarating. But if I did that, you and Hinata-kun would worry so much about me.”

_Ah._

“That is not wrong,” Izuru replied. “So, then, you want me to burn you? As part of a _kink_?”

Nagito nodded eagerly, gesturing to the mars that Hajime left behind.

“I’ve really been getting a kick out of being marked up by my precious Hinata-kun, but I know if I asked him to do this, he may never forgive me or himself. You, on the other hand... Izuru-kun’s a lot more, mm, stable than both of us. Izuru-kun keeps us both grounded when we’re so afloat we can’t even reach ourselves much less one another. So there’s no one I would trust more with something like...this...” Nagito licks his lips, lowering his gaze. “Sometimes, though... I see Izuru-kun’s perfect skin and I want to burn it. I assume that’s because of my _passion_ for you.”

Izuru stares at him. More specifically, he stares at the splotches of purple on his throat.

Nagito has asked to be strangled before after all.

This kind of pain play is not new and certainly not a desire that Nagito keeps latent. He and Hajime are not such saints that they always refuse to indulge.

_It is not like we do not enjoy leaving marks on him._

...but. Even with all that said.

_I already know how this will proceed._

He can imagine it vividly. Nagito panting, twisting and gasping sharply as the cigarette is pressed against his skin. Tears stinging his eyes, ivory strands sticking to his face, body twitching and shamefully aroused.

He can’t deny that it’s a desirable image.

_At times like this, I am reminded of how close I am to being suffocated. How willing I am to welcome it._

He’s also keenly aware of just how much Nagito and Hajime both trust him. He’s also keenly aware of the possibility that they don’t know how much of his persona is just that. He doesn’t look too deeply into that—he always steers his thoughts firmly away when they are in danger of delving.

“I’m not going to hurt you,” Izuru said simply. “Not today.”

Nagito’s face falls, even as he quickly manages to retain his smile.

“...I see. Okay. I wouldn’t dream of pushing you. Aha, I don’t even see how I can.”

_Either you are lying or you really are naïve, Nagito._

It really could be either one, knowing Nagito as he does.

It doesn’t matter either way. Izuru cups Nagito’s cheek. He leans in and kisses the other softly. It’s when Nagito predictably returned the kiss that Izuru takes the box of cigarettes from his hands. Nagito gasps, but Izuru deepens the kiss so that any protest is muffled.

“Ah, mm... Izu...ru-kun...”

Nagito shivers as he pulls away.

“Izuru-kun...?”

Izuru ruffles his hair, holding the cigarettes behind his back.

“It would be optimal to leave the house today. I predict the weather will be well. We should go.”

“Oh... Okay.”

Nagito is selfish, self-centered, and overly self-indulgent—but he doesn’t say anything about Izuru not returning the box. If anything, he likely expected it, given the knowing smile he wore afterwards.

* * *

There are times when they all share the bed, Nagito tucked between them. Nagito and Hajime both sleep so peacefully and so graceless that it would be easy to pretend that everything is at ease. That everything is healthy. Functional. Nothing _concerning_.

Izuru always feels the most listless in moments like these.

_What foolishness._

But at times like this, when Nagito turns other and burrows into Hajime’s side. When Hajime snores loudly and smacks his lips a few times. When Nagito murmurs their names and begins to cling to Hajime...

_I would rather die than live any other way._

In that way, Izuru supposed, he had an addiction as well.

It is easy enough to slip out of bed without either of those two noticing. It is easier still to slip away outside, onto the balcony, a place where he can light a cigarette without worrying about the smell.

He does not make it a habit to smoke. It is occasional, reserved almost entirely to moments where Nagito offers a stick. Almost, save for this one moment he allows himself.

Smoke is not something he enjoys, but it does make the memories easier.

_I am not as stable as they think. The only reason I am here now is because of them._

Because Hajime, in spite of his envy and resentment, still treated him kindly. Because Nagito, for all his faults, would smile at him like it was nothing. Because both of them made him _feel_ in ways that he felt otherwise incapable.

_Hajime is my brother. Nagito is my lover. For us to all be together is all I could have ever hoped for, and, truth be told—_

He knows that deep down the reason why he keeps them all as close together as he could is because of his own selfishness. His own conceit.

_I am not so possessive that I cannot share Nagito with Hajime. But I am possessive enough to want to keep those two as close and as mine as possible._

He flicks off the ashes, blowing out a thin stream of smoke and dissipates among the stars. The moon is invisible today, but the stars continue to glimmer without a care.

_Without them, this world would be so—dull. So boring. The emptiness would be suffocating. I would rather be suffocated by poison than by nothing._

Izuru leans against the railing. He continues to stare drearily at the sky; the sky is not reflected in his blood-red gaze.

At times like these, he is reminded of his dreams. Ones that mix in with memories and wishful thinking of the three of them all smiling together, all laying together—nightmares where Hajime and Nagito unravel beneath his fingertips like yarn. Where they disintregrate like sand.

_I know that to continue onto this path is to risk such things. But—_

There are nightmares, too, of Hajime and Nagito, both smiling, both laughing, both so happy, and both so far, _far_ out of his reach.

_I would rather die...than live any other way._

With that, Izuru smashed the cigatette into the railing.

_All I can do is hope that it will still be possible to find happiness even on a treachous path like this._

There are days where hoping is easier. There are days where hoping is much more difficult. But at times like this, he just had to think to himself.

_It’ll be fine._

He flicks the cigarette butt off of the railing.

_Let’s not think about this anymore._

He goes back inside, storing the rest of the cigarette box along with the lighter in its usual hiding place. He returns to the room, and crawls back into bed. Hajime, ever the sensitive one, briefly stirs awake.

“Ah, huh... Izuru...?”

“Shhh...” Izuru presses close, clinging to his brother from behind, reaching out so that he can wrap his arm around Nagito as well, still clinging to Hajime’s front. “Go back to sleep, Hajime.”

_Let’s not think about this anymore._


End file.
